Deflowered
by Lorelei Lee
Summary: Mob!AU - Mafia!AU - Boss!John bought the first night of virgin!Sherlock who works as a rentboy in Miss Adler's brothel.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Deflowered

**Fandom**: Sherlock BBC / Mob!AU

**Author**: Lorelei Lee

**Pairing**: Sherlock/John

**Disclaimer**: everything belongs to ACD, the BBC and Moftiss.

Not betaed, not brit-picked, english is not my first language. I just wrote this "quick and dirty", because this damn plotbunny wouldn't leave me alone.

* * *

**Inspired by these tumblr pics:**

mrs - mob - johnlocked . tumblr post / 47382376565 / mob - au - boss - john - bought - the - first - night - of

* * *

**Deflowered**

John Watson – better known as _The Doctor_ (a nickname he despised, but had finally accepted) was bored.

His latest fucktoy had to be _eliminated_ because he hadn't known when to shut his mouth and when to open it wide. His advisor Mike Stamford – an old friend from the old days when John hadn't been _The Boss_ – suggested he should satisfy his appetite with _professionals_.

„_Just for a while"_ he had added hastily as he had recognized John's dark look. _„__Same fun, less fuss"_ he had told John.

John had snorted. _Less fuss_ was a sure thing. But the _same fun_? Also John didn't like to pay for things he could get for free. But this latest _elimination_ had caused a real disturbance with the police and an unreasonable prize had been demanded from Inspector Dimmock to stop all the investigations.

So John had – rather grudgingly – agreed with Mike and on this evening went to Miss Adler's brothel which catered to his tastes. He hadn't visited her in months and so he was surprised to hear from the other guests of a new boy, who's virginity was on auction today. The highest bidder would get the first night.

The auction hasn't started yet, so John tried to get a little more information about the mysterious boy, but all he could gather was his name (Sherlock), the general statement that he was a freak, but brilliant at everything he does and the fact that he had worked already for three months for Miss Adler, with his virginity still intact.

John was intrigued and his boredom forgotten. When Miss Adler joined her guests and started the auction, this Sherlock-boy was nowhere in sight, and John was surprised at how fast the biddings went higher and higher. He waited just a few more minutes and then voiced his bid. Silence fell as the other guests tried to imagine the amount he was willing to pay for the virginity of a rent-boy.

Only Miss Adler grinned like the Chesire Cat, congratulated him, took his cheque and escorted him to a room on the second floor.

"I wish you a very satisfying evening, Doctor," she whispered and walked away, humming under her breath.

+++ooo+++ooo+++ooo+++

John opened the door without knocking, went inside and closed the door behind him. Only then he took a look around. A luxurious bed with dark red satin covers and too many cushions to count, a discreet cupboard which (as John knows from earlier visits) contains all the supplies and toys a guest might need and two comfortable armchairs.

One of the armchairs was already occupied by his prize – the virgin boy. No, not a boy... a man. A man in a smart, black suit - his long legs nonchalantly crossed. John was slightly surprised. Sherlock looked older than he had anticipated. He looked still young, but that was perhaps because of his slender frame, his pale, marble-like skin and his boyish, dark curls. Sherlock looked at ease, but there was a slightly nervous twitch in his eyes and in his fingers, although his hands where folded in his lap.

Neither of them had spoken a single word. Each of them busy with looking and cataloguing the other.

Finally John broke the silence.

"You know why I'm here?" he asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said and John was once again surprised. This time by the rich, dark and enticing baritone and by the bored tone. "You're here to deflower me."

John smiled. Oh, this one would be fun to break!

"Deflowered?" He shook his head. "Deflowering is for blushing maidens. You're not a blushing maiden, Sherlock. You're a boy-slut. I'm here to break you in." His smile grew wider and he showed Sherlock his white teeth. "Miss Adler auctioned your ass off. I won, I paid... and now you're mine."

Sherlock sent him an unsure look and played with the top button of his tight shirt.

John took seat in the second armchair.

"Please, take off all your clothes," he asked in a very polite voice but with his devilish smile, which was – in some circles – even more feared than a death sentence.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

Not betaed, not brit-picked, english is not my first language. I just wrote this "quick and dirty", because this damn plotbunny wouldn't leave me alone.

* * *

**Inspired by these tumblr pics:**

**mrs - mob - johnlocked . tumblr post / 49680788580 / mob - au - boss - john - bought - the - first - night - of**

* * *

Sherlock hesitated for a few seconds. Then he seemed to reached a conclusion. He straightened his shoulders and stood up. John waited, but nothing else happened.

He registered a strange look in Sherlocks equally strange, pale and utterly fascinating eyes and decided that a little reminder would be appropriate.

"So, shall we begin?" he asked - still very polite.

Although Sherlock held himself straight and tall – nearly rigid – the movement of his arms and hands was graceful. He opened the button of his jacket and pulled it back a little bit to show of his tight, crisp shirt and his – no doubt – lean, but muscular chest underneath.

"At your service," he said in a strange mix of pride, callousness and defeat.

A toothy, bright smile appeared on John's lips.

"Please..." he said with a slight bow of his head.

Sherlock shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt slowly.

"How old are you?" John asked him.

"Twenty-three." The reply was delivered prompt, almost casual.

Too casual. John smirked.

"Nice try. How old are you really?"

Sherlock shrugged and tugged at his belt.

"Why does it matter?"

John crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap – mirroring Sherlock's former position completely.

"Because I'm trying to understand how you could remain _unsoiled_ for so long."

The belt was pulled free from his loops and Sherlock placed it next to his discarded jacket on his armchair.

"I was never interested before in this kind of _activity_." He sounded bored and disgusted.

John flashed him a toothy grin.

"And now – all of a sudden – you're interested in getting buggered?"

A slight red flush appeared on Sherlock's sharp cheekbones and he answered evasively: "I owe Miss Adler a favour..."

"And you use your virginity to pay her back," John stated.

"Yes."

John noted that with this one word a little lost look crept in Sherlock's eyes, although his voice remained cool, collected, business-like. John respected people who understood _business_. He had to focus on the business part of this scene. He had to concentrate on his fun. Emotions and business don't mix well in his world. He had to forget this small, lost look in those lovely pale eyes. He went to this brothel to have fun – not to get himself a new lover. Emotions are bad. Business was good. He could work with that.

"You already work here for what... three months?" John asked.

"Four months, three days." Sherlock pulled his shirt out of his trousers. There was a flicker of a pale chest, hairless and smooth as marble. John licked his lips. He so loved smooth boys.

"How come you're still a virgin? I would have guessed Miss Adler would have sold you off much sooner?"

"Miss Adler thought that the price for my virginity would be higher if we waited a little bit. She wanted me to show around for a while... let the guest get to know me."

John noticed, that Sherlock was delaying his undressing. The little tease now unbuttoned his handcuffs. Oh, he would so pay for that!

"So what did you do here for a living? What did you do to entice a high enough bid?" John really was curious.

"I sucked cocks. I'm a magnificent cocksucker." Sherlock told him bluntly.

A short, amused laugh escaped John's lips against his will.

"You're such a show-off..." He shook his head.

A very small smile appeared on Sherlock's face.

"Not really. That was me being modest."

John looked Sherlock over. This boy was amusing, but he had to learn who was in charge here. Time to take him down a notch.

"I guess that as a mere cockslut you hadn't earned enough money to pay Miss Adler back. Am I right?" Sherlock blushed again, but remained still. "But... if you can get fucked in your ass – three or four times each day – you will make big money for her."

Sherlock scowled.

"Yes." His tone was clipped – bordering on angry.

John exhaled slowly. The first flare of arousal surged through his body. He always enjoyed breaking the feisty ones.

Sherlock let his shirt fall off his left shoulder. A pink, pebbled nipple surfaced. John's fingers twitched. This hard little nub practically begged to be sucked, licked and bitten. Inside his body John's blood ran hot through his flesh – on the outside he remained calm. He had a plan. And he was in charge.

"Just out of curiosity..." John resumed their former talk, "You said before, that you were never interested... but nevertheless... how many offers did you get across the years? One hundred or more?"

Sherlock eyed him with a confused look.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't tell me no one ever tried to get in your pants. With that way you look..."

"Wait a moment," Sherlock interrupted him with his hand held in front of his body in a stopping gesture. "Are you trying to tell me, that you think that I am beautiful?" He had narrowed his eyes and looked completely blank.

Now it was John's turn to be confused.

"You _do_ own a mirror, right?"

Sherlock snorted.

"There's no need to flatter me," he said disdainfully. "You bought me. I have to follow your orders. Just. Get. On. With. It."

"Oh, pushy... are we?" John purred and stood up.

Sherlock was taller than him, but John could be very intimidating when he chooses to be just that. Greater men than a mere rentboy had backed off when John was in full _Boss-Mode_. It came like a surprise that Sherlock didn't flinch, but at least his face went a little bit paler and his pupils dilated as if he was aroused.

"Do I have to beat you into submission?" John whispered with a toothy grin.

Sherlock swallowed visibly but stayed his ground.

"You may start with the riding crop, if you want to."

"You like the riding crop?"

"I've had worse" Sherlock stated flatly and finally let his shirt glide off his body.

John looked him over. The naked, pale chest – the pink, hard nipples – the few purple bruises in various shades and forms.

"I see..." he said slowly. "I'm not the first one you'd tried to get clever with."

"Obviously." Sherlock remarked deadpan. "And that's my second asset. I'm not only good at sucking cock. I can also take a good beating without making a fuss."

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**inspired by these gifs:**

**mrs - mob - johnlocked . tumblr post / 49778885579 / mob - au - boss - john - bought - the - first - night - of**

* * *

"Well then..." John drawled. "Let's get started. On your knees," he commanded and Sherlock obeyed, kneeling in a fluid motion on the floor, his mouth now on level with John's crotch. John grabbed a fistful of those dark locks and guided Sherlock's head where he wanted it to be. "You know what to do, don't you?"

"Yesss," Sherlock hissed, but showed no resistance. He took hold of John's hips and began to press open-mouthed kisses on the slight bulge of John's pants.

John really began to enjoy himself quite a bit.

Fuck, this boy had not only a clever, but a talented mouth. Looks like he hasn't exaggerated his skills. As he looked down, Sherlocks eyelids fluttered and John's vision was filled with wide-blown pupils, dark as the night, with only a small ring of pale blue-green surrounding them. Sherlock was now mouthing in earnest his cloth-clad, fast-filling cock through his trousers. It was a symphony of black and white... Sherlocks dark curls blended with his black trousers, the paleness of his face contrasted with his fluttering, dark eyelashes... the only colour in this picture were his red, sinful lips leaving damp patches on John's crotch.

John had to close his eyes. The pressure of this lush mouth was just right to make him want to ram his cock right down this long throat. But that wasn't for what he was here, and as he felt the slight scratch of fingernails on his clothed balls and a tentative hand searching for his zip, he yanked at the curls in his hand and pushed the little slut on the floor.

Sherlock just laid there. Chest heaving, a light flush spreading from his incredible cheekbones down his throat, his mouth hanging slightly open as if he really was breathless with arousal. A disdainful grin began settling itself on John's lips, when he noticed the bulge in Sherlocks trousers.

"You concealed that you get off on sucking cock," he scolded. "Now I really think the riding crop will have to make an appearance." Sherlock only watched him with heavy lidded eyes as he walk to the cupboard to retrieve the crop. John came back and stopped next to Sherlock's lower body. He tapped lightly on the bulge there, what caused a chocked moan from Sherlock. "Do you always get this horny?" John used his polite voice again.

"Not always," Sherlock confessed and his hips bucked up against the crop, seeking more pressure.

Immediately John took the crop away and ran it over Sherlock's chest, slapping his nipples a few times (which earned him sharp intakes of breath from Sherlock) before he moved higher, where he rested the crop on Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock was breathing heavy now, his eyelids fluttered closed and he tried to nestle against the leather-strap on the end of the crop like a cat who wanted to be petted.

"You really love the riding crop, don't you?" John teased.

"Sometimes..." Sherlock sighed. "Do you want me now? On the bed?"

John pretended to think about it – and then shook his head with a smile that was so friendly that it was really frightening.

"You know what? You were a little bit more expensive than I expected... So... I don't want to rush things. I think we should enjoy the moment, don't you think?" He slapped the riding crop against Sherlock's right cheek, before he dragged it over those full lips. Sherlock's tongue darted out and gave the leather strap a few playful licks. At this sight, John's cock twitched eagerly. He breathed through his nose to compose himself.

"Then what are you waiting for, Sir?" Sherlock asked with a hint of mockery in his voice. "You can start anytime with your enjoyment."

"Oh, stuff it. Don't _sir_ me," John told him slightly annoyed, but then he lowered his voice to a dark whisper.

"I'm waiting for you to really, really wanting it. Needing it. Begging for it. Gagging for my cock in your tight, virgin ass. Begging me to fuck you. Hard." He had thought that Sherlock would shiver or moan at his words, but this unpredictable boy just watched him with eyes that (just a second ago) were aroused and heavy-lidded, but now were narrowed and calculating.

"Interesting..." Sherlock said.

"What's so interesting?"

"You don't want my submission. You don't want me to play a role. You don't want me to fake the whole thing. You want..."

"I want you to want me," John interrupted him in a low, dangerous voice and the hint of a devilish smile.

Sherlock calmly considered his words.

"I wonder how you think you will achieve this," he finally said.

John's smile deepened.

"Just wait... and see... You can start by sucking me off. Put your pretty and naughty mouth finally to good use."

Sherlock had the audacity to grin.

"Yes, Sir."

That earned him a hit across his chest and he took it without a cry or a moan.

"I told you before..." John warned him. "Don't mock me. I know how to arouse wanton need. But I also know how to punish and how to inflict unbearable pain. They don't call me _Doctor_ for nothing. These few semester medicine really come in handy... when there is the need to break fingers or legs... or to stimulate a prostate until one is sobbing with desire."

"I'd really like to see you try," Sherlock replied dryly, but nevertheless his voice sounded curious.

John shook his head. Despite himself he wanted to laugh, but that wasn't an option here.

"You really are an insolent little slut."

Sherlock looked bored.

"Tell me something I haven't heard before."

John smiled his most friendly and most disturbing smile.

"You're beautiful."

That hit a nerve.

Sherlock blushed furiously and averted his eyes.

"Don't..." he murmured in a strange mixture of anger and pain. "Please... don't." He took a deep breath and looked up to John again. "I don't kiss you and in return you don't flatter me. It's not necessary. This is a deal. Nothing more, nothing less."

John nodded in understanding. This boy was strange. Why doesn't he like to be complimented? Everyone craved to hear some nice things now and then. But on the other side this boy was right. This was a deal. Business. Not a cheesy love affair.

"Back to business it is," John stated calmly. "I believe I told you earlier to suck me. Why did I have to wait so long for your service?"

Sherlock's face remained expressionless, but he crawled back on his knees and fumbled for the zip in John's trousers. He pulled John's cock out, which had deflated a little bit over the course of the last couple of minutes, but was still half-hard.

"You're not circumcised," he remarked.

"No, is that a problem?" John asked.

"No... on the contrary. More foreskin, more fun." Then Sherlock closed his eyes, as if he was feeling pure bliss and peppered little kisses and teasing licks all over John's rapidly growing erection.

It felt fantastic. Sherlock really was magnificent at this sexual variation. His tongue was smooth, but insistent, the pressure of his lips just right to leave him wishing for more. Just when John thought he couldn't stand this erotic teasing any longer, Sherlock opened his mouth and took his whole erection down his throat in one go.

A deep moan escaped John's lips and his knees went a little bit weak. Sherlock kept perfectly still. He only swallowed again and again around his hard cock, which was so deep down his throat that for one crazy moment John believed he could feel Sherlock's heartbeat on his glans.

John wanted nothing more than to bury his hands in those dark curls and fuck this sinful mouth ruthlessly. But he stayed still and tried to enjoy the exquisite torture of this wet mouth, those hot lips and this eager, tight throat. Desire coiled in his lower body and against his own will his fingers found their way to Sherlock's head where they combed through his hair in a nearly tender caress.

Then the sucking and the slight bobbing started and burning ecstasy surged through his veins, inflamed his whole body and he had to bite his lips in order to keep his shameless moans inside.

The feeling of fingernails scratching over his balls brought him back to consciousness. Not completely, but at least enough to gather his wits and to shove Sherlock off his cock, before he was tempted to shoot his load down that lovely throat and be done with it.

"That's more than sufficient," John said and hated how breathless he sounded. The small smug smile on Sherlocks lips angered him. "Undress yourself and on the bed with you," he ordered more harshly than he had intended to, but at least Sherlock complied without a saucy remark.

John breathed deep and put his straining erection back in his pants. His cock wasn't too happy about that, but John was insistent and his body eventually bowed to his will. It was still uncomfortable, but it was worth the look of confusion on Sherlock's face, when he noticed John's maneuver.

"What are you waiting for?" John asked. "On the bed and on your back."

Again Sherlock complied without a word and arranged his long limbs on the covers of the bed, looking expectantly and a little bit unsure. John took his time to look at the naked, pale body on the dark red sheets. His eyes roamed over the hairless chest with those tempting nipples and settled finally on his groin. Sherlock was clean shaven - there was no pubic hair, only soft, smooth looking skin. The heavy balls nestled between long, lean legs and a fleshy, slightly swollen cock, laid on a flat stomach, moving with each breath Sherlock took.

"Did you prepare yourself?" John asked.

A blank look crossed Sherlock's features.

"Prepare?"

John's left eyebrow made an appearance.

"Yes... have you stretched yourself or at least lubed yourself up?"

"No." Sherlock simply told him. "I only had an enema earlier this evening," he added thoughtfully.

John had to fight a giggle.

"You have no talent for pillow talk," he said with a grin. "It's certainly none of your finer assets."

Sherlock shrugged.

"Could have told you so."

"But why haven't you prepared yourself? I would have thought Miss Adler..."

"The most customers wouldn't have bothered" Sherlock interrupted him in a calm, collected voice. "The more I'd scream and cried, the more satisfied they would have been. So I hadn't bothered, too. I had just wanted to get over with it." He paused. "I hadn't expected someone like... you." A softer expression full of wonder appeared in those pale eyes.

A short bark of mirthless laugher escaped John's lips.

"I'm not a kind man," he told Sherlock coldly. "Don't make people into heroes. Heroes don't exist."

"I haven't mistook you for a kind man," Sherlock corrected. "You want to break me... just like any other customer. But your ways and means are more... intriguing."

"Such high praise," John replied sarcastically.

"It is. I'm not easily intrigued," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

Again John had to shook his head.

"I don't know why I'm allowing you to talk so much."

"Because you're also intrigued by me."

Silence filled the room after this last remark.

Finally John moved and went to the cupboard.

"Shut up and spread your legs. I'll get the lube."

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

Deflowered-04

When John went back to the bed he carried a can of petroleum jelly with him, which he had retrieved from the cupboard. The slight twitch in Sherlock's eyelids contradicted his otherwise cool demeanour and betrayed his nervousness. John told him to bend his knees and he obeyed without another word or snide remark.

John rested his right hand on Sherlock's knee.

"Relax. Breath deep. I won't hurt you on purpose," he told him in a calm voice. He laid his left hand on the inside of Sherlock's thigh and let it travel downwards.

"I hope for your own best that you haven't lied to me about the enema. I might be inclined to let you suck my fingers clean… after I have prepared you sufficiently," John said matter-of-factly.

Sherlock tried to stifle a sharp intake of breath when John reached his clean-shaven balls and touched them lightly.

"To think that I'm the first one to touch you there… right there…" John mused while his fingers stroked over the soft skin of the perineum. The urge to claim, to take, to fuck was suddenly overwhelming. John had to inhale a few times through his nose to calm himself again, to quench his thirst and to dim his hunger to a bearable level.

Sherlock shivered under his touch and it was such a breathtaking sight that John spent long minutes fondling the soft balls and the even softer skin which lay behind them.

"Won't you just get on with it?" Sherlock finally asked, but it sounded so breathless that John's mouth split in an amused grin.

"Eager, are we?" he teased. "In fact we have the whole night on our hands, but since you are so… _desperate_… I will indulge you." John opened the lid of the can and smeared a generous amount of the jelly on his forefinger.

Slowly, he circled the puckered virginal opening with the lubricated digit. A ball of molten liquid burned through his body until it settled firmly between his legs. The twitching of the skin under his finger only fanned the flames of his hunger. Finally he rested his fingertip directly over the tight, twitching hole.

"Relax," he repeated. "Breath. And push down a little bit."

Surprisingly, Sherlock followed his orders and John watched with bated breath how his finger slipped nearly effortlessly inside this tempting body. Just as John thought everything would work out fine, Sherlock gasped and tensed.

John didn't move his finger. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't. Sherlock was unbelievably tight. At this thought his traitorous cock surged back to life.

"Does it hurt?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Not really..." he managed to get out. "Just… uncomfortable."

"It will pass," John tried to soothe him. "Really… you have to relax or you will hurt yourself. You're so tight. You're going to crush my finger if you keep tensing up."

That earned him a small giggle. A small sigh and a little bit of the tension left Sherlock's body and John was able to move his finger again.

"Lie back, think of England and enjoy the ride," he suggested with a sleazy grin.

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

Half an hour later, Sherlock's member was hard, leaking and nearly purple. On his quivering stomach a wet patch of pre-come was glistening with each breath and every movement of his aroused, restless body.

His face and his chest was flushed, his nipples hard and erect like his cock. Both body parts practically begging John to suck them into oblivion.

Sherlock's legs were spread obscenely wide, his thighs trembled, his forehead and his heaving chest were damp with sweat. The lids over his fascinating, pale eyes had fluttered and closed a long time ago.

Only soft gasps and throaty moans had escaped those slightly parted lips. White teeth nearly constantly worried the full lower lip which was now red and swollen and would look just right - stretched around John's weeping cock.

Long fingers clawed on the dark red sheets in an attempt to fulfil John's orders to keep his hands away from his cock.

It was a sight to remember and John held still to drink in this wanton display. And to think that it had taken only two fingers and some petroleum jelly to reduce this insolent, arrogant and sarcastic guy to a shivering, wanton and impossible horny mess…

John's fingers now moved without resistance in and out of Sherlock's body. On every third or fourth stroke he brushed over the small bulge of Sherlock's prostate. Every time he did it, Sherlock's body reacted more violently. His moans became more breathless and eager. His body tried to open up even more, tried to took more of John's fingers, to swallow them, to hold them there… deep inside of him.

With a slightly hard push, John buried his fingers deep inside of Sherlock's body. Deep inside the hot, smooth walls of his canal. His fingertips thumped on the already overstimulated gland and Sherlock cried out in arousal and agony. A now steady stream of pre-come constantly dripping from his neglected, rampant cock was soiling his pale – otherwise flawless - skin.

"Are you _ready_ for a third finger?" John asked with a devilish smile.

Sherlock only nodded vehemently.

"Do you _want_ a third finger?" John asked again.

"GOD YES! **HURRY**!" Sherlock cried.

"Mmmhhh…" John pretended to contemplate Sherlock's ecstatic outburst while his fingers kept still. "No," he told Sherlock at last, pulling out his fingers and wiping them on the inside of those pale, trembling thighs. "Sorry. Wrong answer." He stood up and watched Sherlock with merciless, calculating eyes

Sherlock startled and sat up.

"What? No!" Sherlock cried. "Wait… please!" he pleaded with a frenzied, desperate look on his face. "Come back!"

A cruel smile played over John's lips.

"Ah… too late for pleading and begging, I fear."

Incredulity settled on Sherlocks features.

"But… you're… really leaving?"

"Yes."

Dark eyebrows knitted in pure confusion but then he noticed the small tent in John's black trousers.

"But you're still…" He searched John's eyes. "Don't you want me to suck you off? I mean… at least?"

"No. That's not necessary. And not what I came here for," John stated.

The look of confusion remained firmly on Sherlock's face.

"Will you come back?"

John shrugged casually.

"Not tonight… not tomorrow... but eventually."

Sherlock seemed to fumble for words.

"But you haven't… finished…"

Again, John smiled. But again, it wasn't a kind smile.

"I never leave a job unfinished. But I will do so in my own time. Not when some horny cockslut is getting all wanton and eager."

Sherlock didn't show any embarrassment at the crude words. He still couldn't get over the fact that John was leaving without taking his virginity.

"But my…" he licked his lips nervously. "I'm still… Miss Adler… what should I tell her?"

"Don't worry about Miss Adler," John stated calmly. "I will talk to her and explain her everything about your… condition."

"I really don't understand," Sherlock admitted with great reluctance. "What was this…" he gestured with his hand over himself and over the bed, "…all about?"

"Oh…" John sucked on the inside of his cheeks and grinned. "Just passing the time and proving a point." Before Sherlock could utter another question John turned on his heels and walked out of the door.

"And they call _me_ infuriating," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

With a frustrated sigh he fell back on the bed. His fingers formed themselves in a tight sheath around his still hard and wet erection. He only managed a few – surprisingly rather unsatisfying – strokes, when the door opened again and John was back.

His mouth curled in a knowing smirk, but the look in his eyes was stern.

"I wouldn' t do that if I were you," he advised Sherlock.

"Or else?" Sherlock spat back.

The smirk turned to a sneer.

"Or you would have to suffer my displeasure."

A visible shiver ran over Sherlock's body, but he remained cool and slightly arrogant.

"You wouldn't know."

John laughed.

"Trust me… I would."

"Fine!" With an irritated sigh Sherlock's fingers unfurled and grabbed the sheets instead. Needless to say his cock was not amused. Sherlock breathed through his nose. He was concentrating on his breathing, trying to calm down.

"Excellent. Good boy. Eager to please, are we?" That earned John a glare. "Just remember: I own you," John whispered in a low and stern but nevertheless seductive voice. "I bought you. Your virginity is mine to take. Your cock, your balls, your mouth, your tongue, your ass… it all belongs to me now. Even your pleasure – all mine. And I am the one to decide when is the right time to claim you… to take you slowly apart… to decide whether it's the right time to inflict pleasure or to inflict pain."

"Pain?" Sherlock asked with clear interest in his voice. "So… you will hurt me?"

The unpleasant smile was back.

"You haven't earned that right yet."

At those words another shiver ran through Sherlock's body and his still half-hard cock twitched in vain.

John flashed Sherlock another friendly, but toothy grin and left without another word.

**To be continued…**

_Sadly without gifs… there were only three of them. Starting from now I will let my imagination run wild._


	5. Chapter 5

Deflowered-05

* * *

Five days later John came back.

During those five days Sherlock had – unusually obedient – refrained from touching himself in any erotic or sexual manner.

Yet he was not very pleased with himself. A slow, constantly burning arousal coursed through his veins, through his body and through his overactive mind… slowly eating away at him.

He grew restless and even more short-tempered than he had been before. He didn't knew what his mysterious customer had told Miss Adler (and she didn't share her knowledge with him) – the only thing he had learned had been the name of his intriguing guest: John Watson. Or better: Mafia Boss John "_Doctor_" Watson. Sherlock had Internet-access after all – and he wasn't stupid.

As soon as he knew who his mysterious customer had been, his curiosity has really been awoken and he now longed to satisfy it alongside with his physical needs.

In the meantime he attended on his clients in his usual style – with his hands, his mouth, and sometimes with his back and his arse for an occasional spanking.

In all these five days he had only once been tempted to break John's order of not relieving himself.

The customer in question had reminded him of John. Not so much because of his looks, but because of his stance and his attitude. He had been older than John, but just like the Mafia boss, he had been friendly but firm. Sherlock never knew that he craved such a treatment just that much.

His customer had wanted to spank Sherlock's buttocks and Sherlock had complied willingly. He had draped himself across the customer's thighs and had noticed the first signs of arousal in the elder man - his erection had begun poking against Sherlock's stomach.

The customer had spanked him quite expertly and Sherlock had enjoyed the proceedings more and more until not only the other man had sported a straining erection.

It would have been so easy to rub himself against the other's lap, to squirm and to buck until he would have achieved an orgasm at last. The sting in his glowing buttocks had been superb and he had revelled in it. He had anticipated the next blow and his hips had made already tiny, involuntary movements which excited him further… when he had felt a tender brush of a finger travelling down the crack between his arse cheeks.

Sherlock had stiffened and bolted upright, had distanced himself from the customer, had shouted abuse and had caused quite a scene.

The whole hubbub brought Miss Adler to the room where she first had backhanded Sherlock to shut him up, before she had turned to the baffled and angry customer to apologize for the behaviour of her "_unreasonable and impertinent employee_".

Later Sherlock had seethed in her office that "_this man had no right to touch me THERE."_

Miss Adler had looked at him with a thoughtful expression and had said nothing. But she had advised him to rest for two hours, before he should attend to the next customer – and to put an icepack on his cheek, to lessen the imprint of her delicate but strong hand on his pale face.

But that had been in the past.

Now was the present.

And John was back.

Three hours ago Miss Adler had tossed Sherlock an enema, told him the time and the room number and – since he hadn't moved and had kept gaping at her – she had ordered in a friendly manner: "Up you go, Get ready for your… _doctor's visit_, my little virgin."

He had glared at her – but since then his hands had kept trembling in anticipation.

If someone would have told him just two weeks ago, that he would be _so_ eager to lose his virginity – to a Mafia boss no less – he would have told them to see a damn good psychiatrist.

And now… John was standing before him and he was so ready to beg for a good, proper fucking.

"Congratulation… you broke me," Sherlock said in a strange mixture of pride, relief and desperation.

John arched one eyebrow and smirked.

"Did I?"

Sherlock bit his lips.

"At least kind of…" he mused. "You gave me a taste… a mere hint of what was to come, what you had in mind with me, what it will be like." He breathed slowly, deliberately in and out before he continued. "That had been clever… awfully clever. Somehow you knew that tasting and still not knowing will drive me up the walls. Will you now satisfy my curiosity and sate my hunger?" He paused for a moment and licked his lips. A look of desperation and nervousness flickered over his face, but he kept his head held high and a stubborn light kept on gleaming in his eyes. "Or do I need to beg first? Disgrace myself? I… _am_ inclined to do so… if necessary."

John smiled, and this time it was a real, pleasant smile.

"I don't think begging will be necessary. I guess we're past that. You have earned your reward without further terms."

A small, relieved sigh escaped Sherlock's lips.

"Good. I would have hated it, but I would have done it."

John's lips curled.

"Someone should tell you that such honesty doesn't sit too well with your choice of career."

"You are lecturing me about honesty and career choices?" Sherlock asked with a haughty look.

On the outside, John remained calm.

"So you found out what I'm doing for money," he simply stated.

Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm not stupid. I know how to use search engines on the web. And I guess it's not only the money you're after."

"Oh, what else would it be, pray tell," John spat sarcastically.

"Power," Sherlock answered unimpressed.

"You really are a clever boy," John said – again intrigued by this total lack of fear. "It doesn't frighten you that I'm a part of _the family_?"

"Should I?" Sherlock merely asked.

John showed his teeth.

"Clever and brave! My… am I lucky tonight," he drawled. "Enough foreplay. Undress yourself," he ordered in a harsh voice.

Sherlock's eyes roamed over his body and his face.

"I guess that has _not_ been very clever of me…" he contemplated.

"Spot on deduction" John said with an icy smile.

Sherlock took a deep breath.

"I've angered you - now you will make it hurt, am I right?" he asked – not with fear, but with a quiet acceptance like he had been many times before in exactly the same situation.

And in that few seconds John did something he had never did before in his whole life. He reconsidered an already made decision.

"No," he said finally. "I gave you my word that I won't hurt you on purpose… I'm a man who keeps his promises."

Sherlock looked at him with wonder in his eyes.

"Really?" he blurted out, but then he looked down in confusion and whispered: "Thank you."

"Would you now be so kind to finally undress yourself?" John asked with a little exasperation in his voice.

"Certainly," Sherlock answered with a smile and shrugged out of his dressing gown. He was naked underneath. "Where and how do you want me?" he asked with a smug smile.

"You're incorrigible," John said with a brief smile. "On the bed – on your back. Just like the last time." While Sherlock gracefully draped himself on top of the sheets, John retrieved the lube form the cupboard.

But as soon as Sherlock noticed it, he frowned.

"Lube?" he asked. "Why not petroleum jelly like the last time. It had felt… nice." A faint blush shone on his cheeks.

John stared at him incredulously.

"Perhaps because petroleum jelly and condoms don't match well?"

Sudden realisation dawned on Sherlock's face.

"You never intended to fuck me the first time," he said accusingly.

"As I told you before… you were surprisingly pricey. I wanted to make the most of…" John paused. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Wait. What? You assumed I would have fucked you without protection?" he asked angrily. "Even worse… you would have _let me_ fuck you without protection?"

Sherlock blinked in surprise.

"Well… I assumed…"

"Is that your favourite past time? Playing Russian roulette with your life?" John interjected.

"It get's a little bit boring here… now and then…"

John shook his head.

"You're an idiot," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps you're right," Sherlock agreed with a small sigh. "I wouldn't be here in the first place, if I wasn't."

Without wanting to, John found himself in danger of growing too fond of Sherlock's blunt displays of honesty. He noticed that he had been staring on Sherlock's naked form for quite some time now and under his gaze Sherlock's flaccid member had hardened visibly.

A hungry growl rose inside John's chest and he took of his jacket and his black turtleneck shirt. With a thrill of satisfaction he observed that Sherlock's eyes had widened at the sight of his muscular chest and the scar on his left shoulder – a souvenir from a little dispute with another – now dead - member of _the family_.

"Ready?" John asked in a low voice and Sherlock nodded and spread his legs invitingly.

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

Twenty minutes later John was pumping three fingers in and out of Sherlock's loosened, but still convenient tight hole. Just like the last time his whole body was trembling and his hard cock was practically leaking.

"I guess that's enough," John murmured and pulled his fingers out of the hole which was clenching around him, trying to suck him back in. Finally, Sherlock did let go, but whimpered at the loss and John watched with lust and fascination as the wrinkled opening was desperately clamping down around nothing, without being able to close completely. "You're loose enough" John said, while licking his lips.

Sherlock looked at him with heavy lidded eyes and heaving chest.

"Fuck me already," he pleaded hoarsely. "Fill me… I need…"

"I know exactly what you need," John interrupted him with a sleazy grin. "But you will have to work for it."

"Everything," Sherlock breathed.

A pleased smile ghosted over John's lips.

"On your hands and knees then," he ordered and moved on the bed to give Sherlock enough space.

With slow, languid, drowsy movements Sherlock did as he had been told. When he had arranged himself accordingly to John's wishes, he looked back to him over his shoulder.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked with a raspy voice and a small wiggle of his hips.

John slapped the presented buttocks sharply and Sherlock moaned.

"You really get off on that, aren't you?" he teased.

"When someone is as good as you… then the answer is yes." Sherlock stretched his body like a cat in heat. He opened his legs wider, his buttocks parted on their own and John was presented with the sight of a still slightly dilated, still convulsing hole. He stroked his fingers over the soft skin of the already drawn up balls and gave them a slight tug downwards. A small cry and a new, steady flow of pre-come soiling the bed sheets were his reward.

Delicious.

There was no other word for this.

Suddenly John didn't want to wait a minute more. Didn't want to make this last. Hastily he opened his pants and took hold of his hard and weeping erection. He bit his lips to quench his sighs. He took a wrapped condom out of his trouser pocket, ripped the packet open with his teeth and covered his cock with the thin latex sheath. He applied a little more lube and hissed at the coolness on his hot flesh.

He took hold of his cock and pointed it against Sherlock's eager entrance. He heard a small gasp and then only Sherlock's heavy breathing.

"Don't get your hopes to high" John told him. "I won't simply slam into you. I won't do anything. You have to impale yourself on my cock." John heard a groan and a whimper but no objection. His heart sped up. This will be the most fantastic fuck he did have in a long time. A very long time.

"And do it slowly. As slow as you can. Don't rush or I will leave immediately" John threatened. Not that he will be able to do so, but Sherlock shuddered and John knew that the boy enjoyed this kind of treatment. Revelled in it, even.

"You can start anytime you like." John laid his hands on Sherlock's hips and felt the shudders running through the over-stimulated body.

He waited and finally Sherlock braced himself and pushed back a little, moaning like the wanton whore that he was, when the tip of John's cock slid inside his body with sinful ease.

John breathed through his nose. God, this boy was exquisite. How he clenched around his glans, clearly desperate for more.

But he held still, waiting… wanting…

"A bit more now… but remember… keep it slow" John whispered in a low, filthy voice. "And don't stop until you feel my pubic hair in the crack of your arse. If you're a good boy, I will then proceed to fuck your brain out and bugger you senseless."

A nearly obscene moan escape Sherlock's throat and with trembling thighs he pushed a little bit more and another part of John's jerking cock was engulfed in the silken heat of Sherlock's arse.

After long, agonising minutes - which felt like eternity – Sherlock had achieved his goal and John stroke soothingly over the shaking body which was drenched in sweat.

"Such a good boy," he cooed teasingly. "Such a perfect little slut."

A new shudder wrecked Sherlock's body and the silken heat tightened again convulsive around John's impatient cock. John sighed and to the music of Sherlock's little, sharp ecstatic cries he pulled out completely. For a few seconds he admired the gaping hole before he slammed back in.

"GOD! YES!" Sherlock's cry echoed in the room.

"What a naughty bitch," John growled and began to thrust in a nearly punishing rhythm into Sherlock's eager and inviting body.

Sherlock's hands gave out and he rested his weight on his forearms instead. His forehead was pressed against the bed and his arse was high up in the air. John's fingers were sure to leave imprints on those pale hips while he tried to change the angle of his thrust.

Suddenly Sherlock cried out and his head flew up.

"THERE! OH FUCKING GOD! DO THAT AGAIN!"

But John only smirked in satisfaction now that he had found the sensitive prostate he avoided it on purpose until Sherlock nearly sobbed with lust, arousal and frustration.

John flashed the dark, tousled curls a cruel smile.

Oh, that will be fun…

He slowed down and finally stilled with his pulsing cock firmly inside Sherlock's clenching body.

"John? Don't… don't stop now… I'm so… so close…" Sherlock whimpered.

"Me too – but hang on… just a little bit more…" John pulled out a little and put his left index finger underneath his cock. His finger stroked around the stretched opening and he listened to Sherlock's sighs. Then he pushed his finger carefully in.

Sherlock's long, low moan vibrated through his whole body and John had to close his eyes for a minute or it would have been over for him then and there.

Steady but tender, he pushed his finger further inside. Side by side with his own hard flesh he was finally able to touch Sherlock's neglected prostate. He waited for the small, relieved sigh and when it came, he began to rub his finger ruthlessly over the gland.

The ecstasy had rendered Sherlock speechless. No words left those lips. Sweet cries and deep moans were all that could be heard from him. John's other hand sneaked around the now constantly shivering and tensing body and took hold of the weeping cock. Sherlock groaned in desperation when he realised that John would not rub him but only hold him and squeeze him occasionally.

Just when Sherlock thought he would die from this agonising, torturing and utterly fantastic sensual excitement, his balls started to tighten almost painfully. His felt his arse clamping down, felt the pressure on his prostate even more and then his cock seem to overflow. His semen poured out of his cock in a steady, pulsing stream. The feeling was indescribable, but somehow it seems to be not enough. He wanted more and when John again started to pound into him hard and fast, Sherlock longed for completion, for some kind of closure, but it seemed to be out of reach. And when John finally, finally stiffened and spent himself with a loud groan, Sherlock's hunger still hadn't been sated.

John pulled out almost immediately and removed the used condom from his softening cock. Sherlock turned around and looked down at his body. With a frown he noticed that he was still more than half-hard, clearly yearning for more. Sherlock was puzzled. He had come just a few minutes ago after all… although it hadn't really felt like coming…

He looked up at John who watched him with a strange expression.

"Why hadn't it felt like an orgasm and why am I still…"

"Horny?" John interrupted with a toothy smile and Sherlock nodded. "Oh, that's because I didn't let you come properly… it was more like milking you dry."

"But how…" Suddenly Sherlock understood. "Oh, yes. The prostate massage. You did that on purpose," he declared.

John had already zipped up his trousers and now donned his turtleneck shirt.

"Obviously."

Sherlock swallowed. His throat felt constricted somehow. Curious.

"When will I see you again?"

"Never," John stated flatly and put his jacket back on.

"Never?" Sherlock echoed. "But I thought… you could become my…" Sherlock swallowed again, "you could become _a_ regular guest."

John looked at him with cold, hard eyes.

"I already popped your cherry – quite thoroughly I might add. What else do have me to offer that could possibly entice me into a second go? Entice me enough to become your _sugar daddy_?" He waited a few moments, but all Sherlock could do was stare at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. John cleared his throat and continued with a sneer: "Nothing. Yes. I thought as much." He turned around and walked to the door.

"You had said… you had _promised_ you wouldn't hurt me on purpose," Sherlock called after him and John broke his stride and turned around to look at Sherlock. "You lied," Sherlock concluded with a cool but empty voice.

"Yes, I lied. That's what people do! What did you expect?" John all but shouted. "You're a _whore_ for god's sake. And I'm a…"

"At least I took you for a man of honour," Sherlock spat, but it still sounded hollow. "I have been clearly mistaken."

John gnashed his teeth.

"Believe me – you're better off without me." With these words he left and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock looked at the closed door in confused bewilderment.

"You also told me that you're _not_ a kind man," he told the empty room. "And I know that had been a lie, too." He looked on the floor were the used condom had ended up. He knitted his brows. "John Watson. I don't understand you. You really are a mystery to me."

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

**To be continued…**

This chapter has been written in quite a hurry. If you find mistakes – please point them out to me. English is not my native language.

_It was brought to my attention that there is a fourth gif-set out there. Sadly I can't use it for my story, because I planned something different. Sorry. The gif-set is really hot… you can take a look at it here:_

mrs - mob - johnlocked . tumblr post / 50675731618 / mob - au - boss - john - bought - the - first - night - of


	6. Chapter 6

A few days later Irene Adler knocked on Sherlock's door.

He was the only one of her boys who also lived at the brothel – just like Irene did. It was her house, after all. She had worked hard for it as a dominatrix and now that she had the money and the house she let others do the work for her. She was a strict employer, but she also wasn't unkind to her employees or "boys" how she liked to call them. She offered them a shoulder to cry on, she paid the fees for their medical exams, and she gave them shelter, if necessary. This house had come with three small single room flats, each with an en-suite bathroom and a kitchenette.

Over the years different boys had occupied the rooms but none of them had needed them any longer than a few weeks at the most.

The only exception was Sherlock. He had lived here since Irene took him in and he had no intention to ever leave.

In fact he actually never left the house, except when it was absolutely necessary. Most of the times her other boys did his shopping or run his errands for him. He could be very charming and convincing, if he chose to be so.

Irene knocked again. Finally she heard movement on the other side of the door.

A key was turned and the door was opened a small crack.

A bleary eye under tousled black locks looked back at her.

"Hello Sherlock," she greeted him with a friendly smile, yet with an impatient undertone.

"Business call or friendly visit?" he asked impassive.

She tilted her head to the side and clicked her tongue.

"Friendly visit."

He sighed exasperated, but took a few steps back to let her in.

"Then by all means… do come in and have a seat." He walked to his bed and slumped down on it with a dramatic flair and an epic sulk on his face.

Irene noticed that he was only wearing pyjama trousers, a dressing gown, and a t-shirt. So he was in his Byronic mood again. Splendid! As if the last time hadn't been bad enough. The flat complimented his mood, for it was a real mess. Overflowing ashtrays, open books on every available surface, clothes on the floor and hanging from the cupboard doors, two laptops on the bed, a dead plant on the window ledge, and stacks of newspapers and magazines on the floor.

"Charming," Irene commented dryly.

"I'm a bachelor. I'm allowed to be a bit untidy."

"Bit untidy? The understatement of the century," Irene snapped. "This had once been a nice, cosy flat and now you turned it into a pigpen. And what is that supposed to mean?" She asked, pointing to the ashtray.

Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm trying to quit."

"Trying to quit?" she echoed. "By only smoking the half of each cigarette?"

His face changed.

"What do you want?" he demanded angrily.

Irene sat gingerly on one of the chairs, which was surprisingly empty, and crossed her legs.

"I want to know when you're done sulking and will come back to work."

Sherlock snorted.

"So it's a business call after all."

"A friendly business call", she corrected with pointed politeness.

He glared at her.

"I don't sulk," he said with a sniff.

Irene breathed deliberately through her nose.

"Fine then! When are you done with grieving or mourning or what ever you want to call the mood you're in and come back to work?"

Sherlock's lips curled up in an unpleasant smile.

"I'm sick."

Irene bristled.

"You already told me that lie four days ago. And I'm still not buying it. Are you moping because Doc Watson hasn't visited you again? Perhaps he's busy and hadn't yet found the time to bugger your greedy little arse again. Sooner or later he will be back!"

"No, he won't," Sherlock replied in a hollow voice and looked away.

"What?" Irene blinked. "Surely he…"

"He won't come back!" Sherlock shouted, but still his eyes were set firmly on the floor.

Irene eyed him disparagingly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"He told me so," Sherlock swallowed audibly. "I just don't understand…" he carried on in a hushed voice. "He had been so kind to me… although he said that he's not a kind man – his actions proofed him otherwise. But there was no need for him to be so kind to me... most customers aren't anyway…"

"Seems like you finally have learned to keep your smart mouth shut when guests are around," Irene couldn't hold back that remark.

"No… I can assure you - I behaved as always. I was my usual charming self," he said with an unhappy grin.

Irene's eyebrows shot up.

"And still he came back a second time? You must have done something right nevertheless. Think about it!" Irene exclaimed when she noticed the sceptical look on Sherlock's face. "He could have fucked you the first night and be done with it. But he chose to see you for a second time. He already came back – he must be really smitten with you. He will come back again. It's only a matter of time."

To her surprise Sherlock reacted quite furious at her words.

"No it's not! He left. He will never come back and I," his voice broke, but he continued in spite of it. "I… have to get used to it. I don't need the false comfort you're offering me. It's just… in one minute… he gave me so much pleasure and in the next… he took it all away… and I just… I just… miss," he interrupted himself and breathed deeply. "And on top of it all I'm horny all the time. All the time since he left, I crave his touch and just thinking of him and what he did to me… arouses me. And it drives me up the wall and I can't do anything against it!"

"You know that mankind invented something called masturbation?" Irene asked unimpressed.

"Yes, I know!" He told her with an icy, exasperated glare. "I've done it twice."

"Twice," Irene drawled.

"Each day," he snapped. "It doesn't help!"

"Dear me!" Irene exclaimed dryly. "What have I done to deserve this? A horny rent-boy. What should I do with you? Ah… wait… I just remembered… I'm running a brothel and you work for me! Get your greedy arse downstairs and earn me some money!"

"No," he stated calmly.

"Good Lord, give me patience!" Irene cried. "Why not?"

"As I told you before – I'm sick."

"Lovesick perhaps," Irene replied angrily and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Love…" Sherlock snorted. "Love requires a heart. And we both know that I don't have one."

"Speak for yourself, Darling."

"Stop calling me that!"

Her face went softer.

"You have a heart. But because it's so small you can easily hide it and it takes a very patient man to find it… and it's so damaged that you will need a good doctor to heal it."

"A good doctor?" he asked. "You will never get tired of this little pun, won't you?"

She grinned.

"Not really. I find it amusing. Don't you?" She looked at his knitted brows and reconsidered. "How long do you plan on being sick?" she asked.

"How should I know?" he replied in a grim voice.

"But you will come back?" she pressed.

"Eventually," he confessed.

She rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, your highness," she replied in a sarcastic manner. "I guess once you're working again… it will be only hands and mouth as before?" she asked tentatively.

He gave her a curt nod.

"I would prefer it this way."

"Fine. But don't forget to tell me, if you have a change of heart. I know many men who would die to get a piece of your fine arse."

Suddenly Sherlock seem fidgety.

"By the way… I need you to do me a favour."

Irene hesitated.

"I don't think I want to," she declared brusque.

"However..." Sherlock said with a careless shrug. "I need you to get my blood tested. Tomorrow I will give you a sample of my blood and you..."

"Sherlock!" Irene interrupted him with a shrill cry. "What have you done?!"

Sherlock looked at her sheepishly.

"I just want to know if I'm still… healthy."

"You swallowed again!" Irene cried accusingly. "You damn fool! Safe and sane! Is that too complicated for your funny brain? How many times have I told you…"

"57 and still counting" Sherlock interrupted her unimpressed.

"Good Lord! Give me strength! 57 times and you're still not listening! WHY!? For the love of God! WHY?!"

Sherlock's mouth was an angry, thin line.

"I'm bored!" he shouted. "And I happen to LOVE the taste of semen. I love the feeling of a hard, fat cock dripping deep down in my throat… suffocating me and drowning me. And although I'm oh-so submissive on my knees I am the one with the power! I am the one who makes them ejaculate! I love to swallow and I love to drown in their come… and to forget about myself completely…" Although he had started out shouting on the top of his lungs, his last words were a mere whisper, and he looked away again.

"I always feared you will trade one addiction for another," Irene said softly. "Finally you stopped with the cocaine… just to fall for the next vice."

Silence fell upon the room.

"It's not like that," Sherlock murmured.

"Be that as it may," Irene said with a small sigh and stood up. "Fine. Give me the blood sample and I see what I can do for you."

"Thanks," he whispered in a low voice.

"I really don't know why I'm putting up with you," Irene told him with fond exasperation in her voice.

Finally he looked up to her.

"Sometimes I find myself wondering about your motives, too," he told her with a lopsided smile.

Irene returned the smile.

"You underestimate your appeal. You're a walking seduction. Even I'm tempted sometimes. And we both know that I prefer girls. But for you? For you I would make an exception."

"Please," he made a face. "We've been through this already. Girlfriends are not really my area."

"Poor baby," Irene cooed. "I don't want to be your girlfriend," she explained with a saucy wink.

Sherlock's frown deepened.

"I should have been clearer – vulvas are not my area."

Irene's smile turned to a grin.

"I have a strap-on in my bedroom and I know how to use it. Still not interested if I will be able to scratch your itch?"

Sherlock made a disgusted face.

"Now you're being just rude and stupid. Go away."

Irene laughed.

"Just trying to cheer you up." She looked at his sad eyes and the laughter died in her throat. "He will come back. Believe me."

"I wish I could," he sounded wistful.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

A few miles and a whole world away, John Watson sat at his desk, reading through the weekly reports about his current _activities_.

Across the desk sat Mike Stamford, idly flipping through some papers.

"The deal with the Baskervilles went well," he stated.

"Yes," John confirmed abstractedly. He then closed the folder he had been reading and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Never would have thought it would run that smooth."

"Yeah… not after that bumpy start," Mike laughed. "Have you seen this Adler-guy again? What was his name? Hemlock… Shamrock…"

"Sherlock," John replied in a clipped tone. "Yes, I've been with him a second time."

"Was he any good?" Mike asked.

John looked at him sharply.

"Why are you asking?"

"What?" Mike asked baffled. "Am I not allowed to ask if my old friend had some fun? I'm just concerned about you… you're so grumpy again. After your first visit your mood really had improved. You had whistled, John. Whistled. The last time I heard you whistling…"

"Yes, I get it!" John interjected. "You're concerned about my well-being. I've been there, I've fucked him, it was nice. That's the whole story."

"Nice?" Mike exclaimed. "That bad, eh?"

John fumed.

"What do you want to hear?! That he's the best cocksucker I've ever known? That he was an extraordinary fuck? We're here to work! Not to discuss my latest sexual encounter!"

"Jesus, Johnny… no need to bite my head off," Mike tried to calm his friend down. "I can take a hint. Back to work it is."

_**(to be continued...)**_

Edited version – thanks to a very good friend of mine.


	7. Chapter 7

Deflowered-07

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

Two days later John stepped inside his study, where Mike already waited for him, going through some letters.

"Meeting already over?" Mike asked.

"As you can see," John answered distraught. He began pacing in front of his desk. "We have to do something about the mayoral election. We need to ensure that our man wins."

"Consider it done," Mike replied without looking up. "I know just the right people. People with large, empty pockets. Are we on a budget?"

John shook his head.

"No. No limits. It's too important for our business."

Mike put a letter back in its envelope.

"Noted. Something else?" he stood up to take a folder out of one of the shelves that framed the walls.

"Bayswater Road," John seethed, and stopped his pacing. "There is trouble ahead. Again!"

"Yeah," Mike said. "Thought so myself. Who should I send to deal with it?"

"The Schultz brothers."

Mike turned around to face John. A pained expression crossed his features.

"Oh, John," he groaned. "Come on. Not the Schultz brothers."

"Why not?" John asked with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"Because they're always making such a mess with their knives," Mike explained with a sigh. "Let me arrange something with Luigi and Paul. They're fast, silent, efficient, and they don't leave a mess behind. Really reliable, neat killers."

John put his hands behind his back.

"I want to make a mess!" he shouted. "Let the police and everybody else think they stepped into a slaughterhouse!"

Mike took a deep breath. When John was in a bad mood like this, he had to tread carefully.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked with caution.

"Yes it is!" John hissed. "I have to set an example! Do you want everyone thinking, that I've grown a pussy overnight - so they can fuck with me?! Do you want them to fuck with me, like they would fuck a bitch?!"

"Jesus, Johnny. Calm down," Mike tried to soothe his friend. "Fine, fine. I'm sending the Schultz brothers. You want a slaughterhouse - you'll get a slaughterhouse. But be prepared that DI Dimmock will send us the bill from his dry cleaners."

"I don't care!" John roared. "Buy him a new suit. Buy him new shoes and socks!"

John rubbed one hand over his face. Then he looked at Mike again. The red light in his eyes hadn't really subsided. "By the way… why haven't you told me about those troubles in Bayswater Road?"

"I told you a week ago," Mike answered with a calm and even voice. "You weren't listening, because you were too busy being grumpy and angry with yourself for enjoying the company of this Sherlock guy too much. So if that's… - Good god, John!"

Faster than Mike thought possible, John had drawn his gun and stepped forward, pressing the gun against the underside of Mike's double chin.

"Are you implying that I've neglected my business, because I was pining over a cheap cockslut?" John asked with deadly calm.

"Johnny-boy… please," deliberately, Mike used the old nickname. "Take the gun down. It's me… Mikey. Deep down… you don't want to shoot me, right?"

John didn't seem to hear him.

"I-am-not-in-love-with-a-whore!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Mike swallowed. He had never been more frightened in his entire life.

"Who said anything about love? Surely not me!"

Suddenly John seemed to come back to his senses. He looked at Mike, then at his gun and dropped his arm.

"Fuck… Mike… I'm," he turned his back on his friend and made a few steps. "Didn't mean to… FUCK!" He shouted with anger and frustration.

Mike dared to breathe again while discreetly wiping the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand.

"You frightened the shit out of me. Never thought you could get that wound up about," he stopped and chose his next words carefully. "About another man. And… by the way… I wouldn't call him cheap. I've seen the copy of the cheque you had paid the Adler woman for his services. Had he at least been worth it? Worth all the fuss?"

John sighed. He turned back to Mike. A wry smile played over his lips.

"He exceeded my expectations. He...," John shook his head. "I can't find the right words to describe him. He's an insufferable git."

"Sounds like you're really smitten with him," Mike said with a small grin.

"Mike! I can't be smitten with…" John sounded exhausted. "He's a whore – for God's sake!"

"Your point being?" Mike asked.

John looked at his friend as if he had lost his mind.

"You can't be serious!"

"Fine, then let me hear _your_ solution to the problem. Are you really planning on never seeing him again? Although he'd improved your mood considerably?" Mike addressed his concerns.

"Never seeing him again would be the right thing to do," John said flatly.

Mike gave a short laughter.

"When had been the last time you wanted to do the right thing?"

"I don't know!" John shouted, exasperated. "But I know that it won't do any good to see him again," he repeated stubbornly.

"Why not?" Mike needled. "Why not visit him regularly? At least he's a professional. You didn't have had too much luck with amateurs lately. Pay him – enjoy him. I won't judge you for it. I have known you long enough. And when it's over – buy him a nice watch and be done with it."

John hesitated.

"So you think… I should…?"

Mike sighed.

"I don't know what you should do. But I have known you long enough to know what you want to do."

John stared into space while the seconds ticked by.

"FUCK!" he finally shouted.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

A week after his talk with Irene, Sherlock had been bored out of his mind, and finally he decided to choose the lesser of two evils. Therefore he had declared himself recovered and had gone back to work.

But he was even more restless, impatient, and fidgety than he had been before.

Yet, none of his encounters with the various customers he was servicing, were as thrilling as John's visits had been. Everything his customers did to him – or with him – seemed dull and boring to Sherlock when compared to John's cruel kindness.

Now he stood in Irene's most beautiful parlour, waiting impatiently for his next customer. There were three parlours in Irene's house – each of them furnished differently – according to the wealth or importance of the current guests. They all had a table, chairs, armchairs, and a sofa – but no bed.

Two hours ago Irene had told him to shower and shave, to dress in a nice suit, and to wait. He had done as he had been told, and now dreaded another boring night, because a booking of one of the parlours usually meant long explanations, tedious role plays (such as patient and doctor, pilot and steward, tycoon and secretary, teacher and pupil), and wee cocks.

Although Irene had been secretive about the identity of his customer, Sherlock guessed it had to be a politician or at least someone famous, but he really didn't care.

Sherlock glanced angry at the clock on the mantelpiece. He had been waiting for more than 20 minutes. Above all, his mysterious customer was not on time.

Finally Sherlock heard the sound of an opening door. Still with his back to the entrance he said in his most haughty tone, "You're late," before he turned around slowly to take a look at this lazy customer, who had him waiting for so long.

When he registered who the person in the expensive suit with the black turtleneck was, he couldn't believe his eyes.

John.

John… with his hands in his pockets and a slightly amused, but hard glare that made Sherlock's heart beat faster.

"You came back," Sherlock uttered the words, before he could think about them, and to his surprise, he found that he didn't regret saying them. "You came back… for me?" he asked full of incredulity and awe – the last two words a mere whisper.

John just stood in the doorframe, sucking on his lower lip.

"Looks like it," he said at last.

Sherlock still couldn't believe it. He had to be sure, that he wasn't imagining things. He had to touch and taste. He stepped up to John, but before he reached him his legs gave out, and he sank to his knees – just in front of John. His arms went around John's hips, while he buried his face in the folds of John's open jacket.

John still didn't touch him.

"Nobody ever came back for me," Sherlock murmured astonished, and a tentative hand reached out to comb through Sherlock's dark curls.

"Well, nice to know that I'm the first one in more than one regard," John's voice sounded hoarse, and Sherlock looked up. When their eyes met, Sherlock shivered in anticipation. He recognized the fire and the hunger in those depthless, blue eyes, but also the special kind of cruelty, he had missed so much.

"I made you wait," John continued softly, still combing his fingers through the unruly hair.

"Yes, you did," Sherlock confirmed, and added dead serious. "You may now apologize."

Something in John's face changed.

"You really missed me," he stated, stroking Sherlock's cheek with the thumb of his left hand. He sounded just a little bit unbelieving.

Still kneeling, Sherlock straightened his body. He began to rub his crotch against John's knees.

"Yes," he breathed into John's trousers and the promising hardness he found there.

"And that's," he pressed his own rapidly swelling manhood against John's legs, "that's not a gun in my pocket. I'm just that happy to see you."

Sherlock heard a light chuckle, before John spoke to him.

"Your pillow talk has improved," John remarked, enjoying the feeling of this talented hot and wet mouth over his cloth-clad erection. "So eager," he purred.

"Shall I milk you dry again to take the edge off?" he continued with a devilish smile.

Sherlock startled, and stopped everything he was doing. Slowly, he looked up to John. Already, his eyes were half-lidded, his full lips red and moist, and utterly inviting.

"If you want to… milk me again," he began with hesitation, "I won't stop you. But…"

He bit his full lower lip, and another rush of blood shot down into John's nether regions. "But this time… I would prefer a proper fucking with a proper orgasm."

Sherlock lifted one of his eyebrows and waited with an expression that seemed to say, _ball's in your court_.

"Sassy," John scolded and tugged harshly on Sherlock's hair just to hear him moan blissfully, but he didn't sound too angry. "Still getting off on the pain?" he teased.

"With you? Always," the reply came promptly.

John had to calm himself with a deep breath, being compelled to simply fuck the boy right there on the floor.

But that was not what he had planned for this evening. He didn't want a short, hard fuck. He wanted to make the most of it. He wanted to make it last. He wanted to enjoy Sherlock's submission, his dreadful honesty, his sweet moans of surrender, and his biting sarcasm. This boy was such a strange, beautiful creature, and a strangely contradicting mixture. Slutty and demanding; intelligent, yet stupid; submissive, but pushy. A strange mixture, indeed – but a mixture, John found oddly compelling and intriguing.

Tonight, John wanted to learn something new about Sherlock. He wanted to learn how he would react, what he would sound like, when he received more pleasure than his body and brain could process.

John longed to hear Sherlock beg for mercy, and he knew how to achieve his goal.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

_**To be continued…**_

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I made a thing… a pic-set… I'm sooo embarrassed. *blush*

lorelei - lee . tumblr post / 51825345435 / i - made - a - pic - set - for - chapter - 7 - of - my


	8. Chapter 8

Deflowered-08

Beta'd by the one and only justfoolinground! Thank you so very much!

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**Go to the story on Ao3 - there are pictures!**

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**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

John tugged tenderly at Sherlock's hair.

"Stand up and listen carefully."

Sherlock stood and tilted his head to the side, looking for a moment like an excited child with a strange, serious expression.

"Tonight I'm inclined to indulge you," it amused John how Sherlock's eyes lit up at his words. "Nevertheless, there is a price for you to pay."

John expected to see Sherlock's face fall, but instead his breathing sped up.

"Do you see this table?" John asked in a low voice and pointed to the furniture next to both of them.

"Yes," Sherlock answered with a slightly puzzled look.

John looked him straight in the eyes and said very slowly, "I will have you, right here on this table, until you have begged for mercy – twice."

A slight flush crept into Sherlock's pale cheeks, but the puzzled look remained.

"I don't beg," he stated.

John flashed him a serene, but toothy grin.

"Yes, I know. You demand."

The flush deepened.

"I..."

"You may come as often and as hard as you like," John interjected. "But not before you've begged. For. Mercy. Twice." He made a pause, before he continued.

"And don't think for one second about faking it. I would know," he threatened and noticed how Sherlock shivered, with heavy-lidded eyes, his full, red lips opened a small crack. What a sight to behold!

"Now... are you ready for your first lesson on how to beg properly?" John asked in a very kind and friendly manner.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed his consent. "Teach me."

"Wise choice," John complimented. "Let's get you naked."

With this, he peeled Sherlock out of his jacket and let it fall carelessly onto the floor.

"Should I?" Sherlock asked with a small confused frown and reached for his shirt buttons.

John shook his head.

"No. I like to unravel you by myself."

He proceeded to unbutton the tight shirt and tugged it out of the trousers. Sherlock gasped when John touched his chest for the first time.

Slowly, he stroked the pale, smooth, hairless chest. The merest touch to those pink nipples made them harden, and Sherlock gasped again.

"No need to hold back," John allowed - his voice dark, laced with slight amusement.

He had barely finished this sentence when Sherlock immediately pressed his body flush against John's. His breathing was heavy, and sounded so very sweet to John's ears. He continued to rub the palms of his hands over those small pebbles, and the first moan escaped Sherlock's lips.

Oh, how John longed to twist and bite and suck on those nubs until they're swollen and tender, but he kept his touch light and affectionate. Although Sherlock probably would have gotten off on a little nipple torture, John had promised himself to kill him with pleasure – not with pain.

A nice, firm erection was being rubbed against his hip, and John decided it was time for Sherlock to lose his trousers. He let his hands slide down over the taut stomach, and while listening to Sherlock's hitching breath, he undid belt, button, and zipper. Soon the trousers were pooling around Sherlock's ankles.

"Step out of them," John ordered, taking a step backwards to allow Sherlock the necessary room to slip out of his shoes, socks, and trousers.

He was now only left in his open shirt, hanging from his shoulders, and the silken, purple boxers, featuring already a dark, wet patch on the front.

John noticed with a smirk that Sherlock's eyes were glued to his crotch. The tell-tale bulge was nearly destroying the cut of his bespoke suit. Yes, his tailor was rich.

"The boxers, too – but leave the shirt on. I like it," John told him.

Sensuously graceful Sherlock obeyed without a word.

John admired the view.

"You really are beautiful," he said softly.

A pained expression flashed over Sherlock's face.

"Why do you keep saying that? I know that it's not true. There's no need to humiliate me. At least not like this."

John stared at him, rendered speechless for a moment, before he gathered his wits again.

"When I tell you, that you are beautiful, I'm telling the truth," he said firmly.

With a sad smile Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm a freak. Too skinny, too pale – my clients don't book me for my looks, but for my skills."

Stepping in front of Sherlock, a frown formed on John's forehead.

"You are a piece of art. Skin like marble. A lean, flexible body - like a dancer," John declared. He touched both of Sherlock's shoulders in a tender caress and felt the boy tremble like a flower. "With lips like blood, skin like snow, and hair like ebony," he teased playfully. "And with a very nice, aesthetically pleasing cock and an arse... simply begging to be filled," he murmured into Sherlock's ear and let his left hand travel down over Sherlock's back to the firm, round buttocks.

Sherlock trembled again, but now it was from renewed lust, not from some unwanted sentiment.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

A little while later, John had Sherlock manoeuvred onto the table, where he was lying on his back with John standing between his spread legs. Still toying with his nipples John had Sherlock writhing under him. His hard, leaking erection nearly constantly rubbing against John's still clothed crotch, moaning shamelessly the whole time.

After some time John looked down at their joined hips and noticed that Sherlock was making a mess of his clothes.

"If you are soiling my trousers, there will be hell to pay," he warned.

"I'm so sorry that I can't control the flow of my pre-come," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

John tutted.

"Still coherent and feisty - far too much for my taste. I'll have to remedy that... but first... if you can't control your wanton body, I'll do it for you. Good thing I came prepared."

Sherlock observed curiously when John retrieved three small objects from the inner pocket of his jacket – a box, a pump spray, and a tube – putting them on the table beside Sherlock.

With a grin that bode not too well, John sated Sherlock's curiosity.

"A special lube," he explained, indicating the tube, then picked up the spray. "A special disinfectant."

Without warning he sprayed the cool liquid onto Sherlock's glans and onto his own hands, which earned him a shocked hiss.

"Oh, quiet," he scolded good-naturedly, while opening the box. "As you are clearly not able to control yourself," he drawled, "this little device will be quite helpful."

It was a ring, too small and delicate for a usual cock-ring. Attached to it was a small, moveable hook-shaped frame with a sphere at the other end.

"What's that?" Sherlock blurted out.

John's grin deepened.

"It's called sperm-stopper. Neat - don't you think so?"John glanced knowingly at Sherlock.

Sherlock swallowed convulsively, but his cock seemed to be very fond of the idea to be restrained.

John showed him the ring.

"This goes around your glans. And this," he moved the hook with the sphere up and down. "This goes inside your urethra."

A hoarse moan was all he heard from Sherlock.

"I'll take that as a yes," John smirked and smeared some of the lube onto Sherlock's glans.

Sherlock hissed again and John looked up to see Sherlock biting his lower lip a little bit too hard.

"No need to be anxious," John appeased him with a calm voice. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me. It won't hurt."

John waited a moment and only continued when Sherlock gave a small nod. With just a little effort John pushed the ring over the glans until it settled directly under the head of the cock. The effect was immediate. Because the blood flow was slightly constricted, the glans swelled, and Sherlock's thighs began trembling.

"Oh God," he moaned. "Feels great..."

"Told you so," John said dryly. "But now to the best part."

Slowly and very carefully he spilled more lube directly onto the slit of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock followed the procedure with wide eyes and enlarged pupils. With even more care John moved the hook and directed the sphere to the tight slit. Only a little nudge was needed and the sphere was seated snugly inside Sherlock's cock.

"Oh God," Sherlock moaned again. "OH GOD!"

He threw his head back on the table, his chest was heaving, his erection twitched, but no more pre-come was leaking out.

"Incredible," Sherlock breathed.

"That good?" John asked teasingly.

"Even better," Sherlock groaned in a deep, dark, lust-ridden voice.

"Perfect," John smiled devilishly. "Ready to beg?"

"What? Why?" Sherlock asked uncomprehendingly.

John just flipped his forefinger against the hard, swollen, and tender glans, and Sherlock cried out in ecstasy.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

After a few flips, John amused himself with pulling the sphere out of the tender opening and pushing it right back into the slightly stretched slit. If the moans filling the room were any indication, Sherlock had the time of his life. He had grabbed the table-edge above his head and held onto it for dear life.

"Poor boy," John whispered with mock pity. "Still not enough? Still not ready to beg for mercy?"

He laid his hand on Sherlock's incredible hot erection, pressing it down on the quivering stomach. He then started petting the drawn up balls with his other hand, while he rubbed tenderly up and down Sherlock's swollen shaft.

A pained, desperate but nevertheless ecstatic sob escaped Sherlock's throat.

"No... please... stop! John! If you don't stop... I'm going to... I'm going to come!"

"And the magic word?" John asked unfazed.

Sherlock banged his head on the table.

"Please!" he cried, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. His teeth were biting hard into his lower lip, rendering him unable to speak.

"Please _what_?" John echoed with false friendliness.

"God, John! You know... please... stop... please... have..." He bit his lip again. "HAVE MERCY!"

"Good boy," John cooed and took his hands away.

Sherlock sobbed in relief.

"One down... one to go," John informed him with an evil smile.

Sherlock shivered languorously.

"Shall I take it out?," John asked, indicating the small hook, which disappeared in the slightly swollen slit, but Sherlock shook his head violently.

"No," he breathed.

A quiet laugh escaped John's mouth.

"You really are an insatiable, wanton slut."

"And you like me just the way I am," Sherlock whispered with a strange, sincere gleam in his eyes.

Had it been something like hope? John wasn't exactly sure, but he was sure that he didn't like the feelings this simple statement evoked in his chest.

"Put your feet on the table," he commanded a little more harshly than he had intended, but Sherlock complied nevertheless without hesitation and with a small sigh.

He spread his thighs wide, thus baring the most intimate part of his body to John's hungry gaze. John ran a finger teasingly over Sherlock's tight, firm, and drawn up balls, down over the soft skin of his perineum, and further down to the perfectly closed wrinkled pucker. Every time he brushed his finger over it, Sherlock's breath hitched and his moans were caught in his throat, coming out as broken sobs.

"You haven't played with yourself?" John asked.

The opening seemed to be as tight as he remembered it.

"No," Sherlock answered with difficulty. "It... belongs..."

He gasped and continued with a shaking voice, "I haven't touched it. No one has touched it since..."

Something like pride swelled up in John's chest. Completely unwanted and uncalled for. Why should he be proud because Sherlock at last had shown some restraint?

In favour of an answer he poured lube on his finger and after a few teasing touches, pushed it inside Sherlock's wanting, eager body. A long, drawn-out sigh accompanied his action while Sherlock thrust his hips, trying to impale himself further on John's finger.

Soon John had three fingers inside Sherlock's writhing body, thrusting and twisting, but at the same time doing his best to avoid the prostate on purpose. An accidental, soft brush against the gland made Sherlock buck so wildly, that John feared he would fall off the table.

"Easy there," he murmured with a hungry gaze.

His own cock was practically weeping in his trousers, begging to be freed and get some action. John wasn't able to deny the needs of his body any longer. One-handed, he opened his fly and zipper, pulled his hard shaft out of his underwear, and nudged it near Sherlock's opening, where his fingers moved in and out in a sensual rhythm, slowly driving Sherlock mad with desire. He pulled his fingers out, listened to Sherlock's complains and whines, and gazed hungry at the widened, convulsively clenching hole.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

In no time John had his throbbing member encased in a condom and now pushed the head of his cock with torturing slowness inside Sherlock's yielding body. And then… he stopped.

It was agonizing for him, too – but as he saw the sweat break out on Sherlock's skin it was well worth his while.

"You want to stay like that all night?" Sherlock asked irritated and breathless. "Move!"

John puckered his lips, pretended to contemplate the request – no, the demand – and pulled his cock out again.

"No," he simply told Sherlock.

"What?!" There was a slight edge of panic in Sherlock's cry. "Oh, no… don't you dare…Leaving me like this!"

"Like this?" John echoed. "Wanting… needing… to be filled and fucked with abandon? Wishing for a hard cock to show you your place… your purpose in life? Like this? Hard and leaking – if the sperm-stopper would let you, that is – practically gagging for release? Aroused, and so horny that it nearly hurts?"

Sherlock shuddered at those words, moaning.

"Yes," he confirmed hoarsely. "Will you put it back now?"

"Still demanding, are we?" John cocked an eyebrow, but pushed back into Sherlock's opening.

A sob escaped those sinful lips, but John stopped his movements - just like before – the very moment his glans was firmly seated inside the gaping, hungry hole. Sherlock's body trembled, clearly trying to suck more of John's cock into his arse.

"You're so sensitive," John whispered almost adoringly. "I bet, with the right training you would be able to climax without a single touch to your cock."

A moan of pure delight came from Sherlock.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" John grinned.

"Yeeeeessss…," Sherlock hissed.

"But not tonight, though," John told him, pushing a little bit deeper, enjoying Sherlock's writhing, and the silken heat around his cock.

He was pushing as slow as he was able to, but all too soon he was buried to the hilt in Sherlock's arse. He leaned down and pressed his stomach deliberately against Sherlock's red, swollen, and incredibly hard erection.

"OH GOD!" Sherlock cried feeling the pressure on that part of his body where he wanted it most, desperately trying to rub himself against John's black turtleneck.

"None of that, slut," John scolded and moved away.

A heart-breaking sob was heard. Sherlock's cock twitched and quivered convulsively. John couldn't believe his eyes when a fresh stream of pre-come – or was that already ejaculate? - dripped out of the slit onto his stomach. He tugged harshly at Sherlock's balls. His cry was a mixture of pleasure and pain but yet again, his cock was dripping.

"Are you coming?!" John demanded to know.

"No... yes... I don't know... it's... it's too much... need... need you...," Sherlock babbled.

"You. Are. Not. Allowed. To. Come. Is that understood?!" John said furiously.

"I can't... please," Sherlock began begging, clearly too aroused to form a longer sentence.

With a fast and hard motion John pulled out his cock, waiting a few seconds and thrusting punishing hard all the way back in, where he stayed still, balls-deep, before he pulled all the way out again.

The brutal rhythm, and the constant, alternating feeling of emptiness and fullness made Sherlock weep and sob. In spite of the sperm-stopper he was leaking freely now, his feet slipped on the table, and John picked them up and arranged them over his shoulders instead.

His injured left shoulder wouldn't be able to hold the dead weight of Sherlock's leg too long, but John found that he didn't care. He had a boy to fuck into submission.

"Stop!" Sherlock finally cried, and John stopped dead mid-thrust.

"What?" John asked, masking his slight concern with sternness.

Sherlock's breathing was laboured.

"Just... let me," he stammered and gasped for air. "I... will you please...," he stopped, biting his lip while his over stimulated cock twitched again. "Oh God. I need to come, please let me come, please fuck me, fuck me hard, and let me touch my cock, it's too much, I can't take it anymore, I... am begging you," he looked directly at John, with tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

"Have mercy," he whispered, "and fuck me so hard, that I will have trouble walking."

One tear rolled down his cheek and John wiped it away with his thumb.

"That has been my intention from the start," he replied more softly than he had wanted to.

His hand stroked downwards, over Sherlock's throat, his chest, his stomach, until he reached the weeping, sensitive cock. He wrapped his fingers loosely around the hard, hot flesh, and pounded into him like a man possessed.

Sherlock's body arched and opened up for him a way John hadn't thought possible. Sucking him in, milking him, submitting to his hard, deep thrusts with shameless abandon.

After all the teasing and the torturing build-up, it didn't take long. Finally John really took mercy, pulled the sphere out of Sherlock's cock-slit, and stroked him in time with his thrusts.

Sherlock's ecstatic cry was ear piercing, but the sight was spectacular. His flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, his tousled curls, the sweat on his heaving chest, his arched back, the look of utter bliss with just a touch of incredulity and awe on his face.

His whole body trembled and tensed up, his heels digging nearly painfully in John's back. The cock in John's hand twitched hard, and the first splash of come did land on Sherlock's collarbone. A relieved sob escaped those full, red lips and the next stream of ejaculate painted his chest and stomach.

Sherlock's muscles convulsed around John's cock - milking him without mercy, while his orgasm seemed to go on forever. John fucked him through the long-lasting spasms and the aftershocks wrecking the pliant body beneath him. But then the need to spent himself in that eager, wanton boy became unbearable. Although he didn't wanted it to end, his body surged forward, and the waves of his lust drowned him, suffocated him, blinding him, leaving him breathless, exhausted and unbelievingly satisfied.

He looked down at Sherlock who lay with closed eyes. Only his heaving chest betrayed the fact that he was still amongst the living.

A tender smile tugged on John's lips, and he put the heavy legs gently off his shoulders. He pulled out carefully, disposed of the used condom, tugged himself in, pulled up and closed the fastenings of his trousers. When he was presentable again, he pulled Sherlock in an upright position.

oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

"What… what are you doing?" Sherlock asked, his words slurred due to exhaustion.

"Just making you more comfortable," John answered softly, while picking Sherlock up from the table, carrying him bridal-style to the small, comfy sofa, where he laid him down.

Sherlock tugged with the gesture of a sleepy and sheepish child at the sleeve of John's jacket.

"Stay."

When John hesitated, he continued, "Just a little while… _please_?"

The last word was merely whispered and seemed to be added as an afterthought, but John knew how hard it was for Sherlock to beg instead of demand, and he decided that a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. Little did he know.

He sat down beside Sherlock, who instantly clung to him like an octopus. One hand clasped at the lapels of his jacket while his head rested on John's shoulder. It humoured John that he was used as an overgrown cushion, and he started combing his fingers through the sweaty locks on Sherlock's head.

"Will you come back?" Sherlock asked after a little while, obviously trying very hard to not sound too desperate, but failing enough for John to notice.

"I promised to train you how to climax without touching your cock, didn't I?" John replied with a leer. "Therefore I have to come back eventually."

Sherlock sighed.

"Good," he simply said, lifting his head. "I'm looking forward to it," he whispered and pressed his lips directly on John's mouth in a short and unexpectedly sweet kiss.

John was too stunned to react. Only when Sherlock once more nestled up against him - with a content smile and a yawn - and relaxed in his one-armed embrace, his brain caught up with the incident.

Tonight, John really had learned something new about Sherlock. This boy was not only a very talented cocksucker, an exceptional lay and made the most wonderful noises in the throes of passion - but he was also a very promising thief.

Because with this one chaste kiss from those usually so sinful lips, Sherlock had managed to steal John's heart.

And in that moment John just knew he had to come back to Sherlock again and again… and again.

**oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo**

**This is the end...**

**...but I have plans with this AU. Firstly, I will make a much needed break. But in a few weeks (I hope) I will start re-writing this whole story in German. With more details – and with more chapters, because (in my head) the REAL story starts right after this chapter. When I will have finished the whole thing in German, I will send it to my lovely translator who had already volunteered to translate it back into English. It will then have a better quality than this.**

**The German version will be titled: "Unberührt – Deflowered – extended version"**

**and the new English version will be called: "Deflowered – extended version – Director's cut".**

**I hope you will come back and read and enjoy. Thank you... and... see you later!**


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